


10. You

by strangeera



Series: Blew It [10]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: AU, High School, M/M, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-11
Updated: 2013-10-11
Packaged: 2017-12-29 03:02:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1000088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strangeera/pseuds/strangeera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>drugs, the internet, first kisses and the graveyard. twenty six years. sterek high school au. vignette.</p>
            </blockquote>





	10. You

The light in the bedroom inexplicably fades as I light up the thin trendy menthol cigarette in my left hand with the black lighter that says wish you were here on it and a palm tree and sitting on the bed wearing all black at my request obviously he says: “like what do you want me to do man;” pale skinny arms kind of chubby at the top scarred and burned with all the cigarettes I've been smoking lately and I'm running my other hand over my hairy sweaty face and trembling, terrible thoughts on repeat inside, like shoving my fist inside his tight asshole and pulling everything out and burying an axe or something inside his weird ugly skull and fucking the gushing wet red black hole or

 

anyway

 

Eerie electronic music floating, from somewhere. “What's my name?” he asks and takes off the black t-shirt and the ocean of bruises hovering above the pale skin kind of turns me on but I ask him to put the black t-shirt back on anyway and he does. The room smells like fries. I'm gagging.

 

He doesn't compare. Everything is wrong. This pitiful hologram of a boy fading alone on the bed. Bogus facsimile of somebody I used to know. It's been years, man. 

 

“Stiles,” I say and even the word is still a thrill. After all this time.

 

And the knock-off on the bed says: “cool. But I mean, can we get going? Like, I gotta be out of here in like twenty minutes, okay?” I'm zoning. The graveyard. Twenty six years ago. “Earth to Derek,” the boy on the bed beeps from far away and I'm back. “Cool, whatever,” I say and take off my t-shirt, half smoked cigarette hanging from my trembling and sweaty paw. 

 

“How do you want me?” he asks. 

 

It's been twenty six years since the disappearance. I haven't been okay for two thirds of my life.

 

“Bloody,” I don't say, and descend.


End file.
